Guilty Pleasures (45 page)

The sprawling luxury hotel Panton House was only five miles away from Chilcot. Built from beautiful honey-coloured stone, it boasted architecture by Robert Adam, grounds by Capability Brown and a kitchen managed by a more modern-day genius, Raymond Sancerre, the irascible Michelin-starred French chef. Rich Londoners often made the journey to dine there, but for most Chilcot locals it was gener ally off limits due to its prohibitive prices. So when Emma had decided to throw a big Milford Christmas dinner dance as a thank you for the hard work put in by her employees, Panton House was a natural venue to make the whole evening feel like a real treat. It was two days before Christmas Eve and the huge restaurant looked fabulous; it had been decorated with pine boughs and holly from the Chilcot woods and the staff were aglow with the spirit of the season.

‘So, exactly how much is this setting the company back?’ asked Roger, dabbing the last of his date and pecan pudding from the corner of his mouth with a napkin. Emma sighed inwardly; she had been expecting this all night. She had deliberately arranged the seating plan so she was seated next to Roger on the top table. It was a peace gesture and so far he had been polite, almost charming.

‘We got a good deal,’ she smiled. She explained how she had ruthlessly negotiated with Jocelyn Bentham, the owner of Panton House, by playing on his weakness for beautiful things. Emma had offered Jocelyn a brand new, entirely handmade bespoke set of luggage in return for an assurance that they could bring their own wine to the restaurant and not be charged corkage – a move that had saved them thousands of pounds.

‘I’ve also paid for a third of the catering charges myself,’ said
Emma. ‘Julia is also in the process of selling several pieces of art from the Winterfold collection that I hope will pay for necessary corporate expenses like this party.’ Emma knew she was playing on Roger’s weakness: his reluctance to look at the company accounts, because despite the discounts, the party had still been incredibly expensive to host, especially for a company that was only just moving into the black.

Roger nodded slowly, swirling his claret around in its glass.

‘I know we’ve had our differences this year,’ he began awkwardly, ‘and I still don’t agree with some of your decisions. But…’ he hesitated, ‘we’re finally getting results. And as the head of the family I would like to thank you for that.’

Despite herself, Emma felt a warm glow course through her. She knew how painful that must have been for Roger to say, but she was grateful for his words.

‘Thanks Roger. I only ever wanted to do the best for everybody.’

‘Well, you know we all want you to come to Gstaad,’ he said referring to the annual Milford family trip to Switzerland. As Roger had been gifted the chalet in Saul’s will, the duty of being Christmas host had fallen to him. ‘Let’s think of it as a new start, eh?’

Emma smiled and nodded, but inside she was groaning. While Emma was glad of the thaw between her and the family, the prospect of five days with Roger, Rebecca, her mother and God forbid,
Cassandra,
seemed too much to bear.

‘Well thanks so much for the invitation, Roger, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it. After all, it’s Christmas Eve the day after tomorrow and I haven’t booked a flight. Besides, I’ve already stocked the fridge for Christmas dinner.’

‘Rebecca has already looked into flights,’ replied Roger generously. ‘There’s still business class flights available from Heathrow to Geneva. We have a wonderful chef at the chalet and I know how much you like to ski. Surely that’s preferable to spending Christmas alone in the Stables?’

‘Oh don’t worry, I won’t be alone. I’ve been invited to lots of Christmas drinks and Len’s threatening to have a lock-in at the Feathers. Anyway, I’ve mentally prepared myself for staying at home,’ she smiled. She touched his hand. ‘Honestly Roger, thanks so much for thinking of me, but I think I’d better get to my feet and say a few words of thanks to the staff.’

After coffee, the Milford employees dispersed from their tables and filtered through into Panton House’s giant conservatory, where a jazz band had just begun a Cole Porter medley. Emma had been walking through to join the dancing herself when she’d spotted Rob Holland hovering by the door, conspicuous in his jeans and a navy sweater in the sea of suits and cocktail dresses.

He came over and kissed her on the cheek.

‘Emma.’

‘Rob? What are you doing here?’ she asked, feeling unnaturally irritated. Since their showdown in the woods, she’d spent the last month determinedly avoiding him and trying to put him out of her mind. It had been easier than she’d expected. She hadn’t seen him around the village all month and the whole Somerset episode and his brush-off at the Winterfold lake had just left her feeling angry and used.

He shrugged and motioned with his thumb towards the other side of the hotel.

‘I was having a drink in Panton’s bar with a friend. There’s a big notice-board in the lobby saying that the Milford dinner dance was in the Gainsborough restaurant and, well, I just wanted to come and say hi.’

‘Well, hi,’ she said curtly, unconsciously smoothing down the thin black velvet of her cocktail dress, then stopping herself.

‘So how’ve you been?’ said Rob after a pause.

‘Busy.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Rob with a nervous laugh. ‘Me too, I haven’t even been to Chilcot for a couple of weeks.’

‘Yes, the Christmas party season must be hectic,’ she said, unable to stop it coming out like a barb. Rob looked like he was about to reply, then thought better of it. Instead, he said, ‘I’ve been in New York quite a lot. It was Polly’s birthday among other things.’

Emma did not want him to spoil her night and she was cross with both Rob and herself that his presence at the party was doing just that.

‘Look, I’d better go,’ said Emma, looking across the dance floor.

‘OK, sure. Listen, I heard you were staying in Chilcot for Christmas. I’m off to Courchevel on Boxing Day but I’m around on Christmas Day if you fancied a festive drink at the Feathers?’

‘I really don’t know what my plans are yet,’ she lied, wondering
who he was going to Courchevel with. Another glamorous blonde, no doubt.

‘Well, whatever you do, I hope it’s fun,’ said Rob, giving Emma his playboy smile. Suddenly it had lost all its charm.

‘And if you want to have some fun together, just give me a call and I’ll…’

‘Rob, don’t,’ she snapped, cutting him off.

‘Don’t what?’ he frowned.

‘Don’t flirt with me.’

‘Why not?’

‘You truly are an insensitive bastard, you know that,’ she replied shaking her head.

‘What?’

‘You heard,’ she said, already walking away from him.

He pulled her arm.

‘Look, Emma, there’s something you should know.’

At that moment Virginia appeared behind Emma.

‘Darling, I need to talk to you,’ she said, putting an arm around her shoulders. For once, Emma welcomed her mother’s interruption. Whatever Rob wanted to tell her, Emma felt sure it wasn’t going to be good news.

‘Oh, hello, Rob,’ said Virginia with little warmth. ‘I’m just trying to persuade Emma to come to Gstaad with us. Roger positively insists she come along and I think it will be so good for the family.’

‘I agree with you,’ nodded Rob.

Emma glared at him, not welcoming the interruption. Her life was none of his business.

‘I’ll see you in the New Year, Rob,’ said Emma finally.

‘I’d better get back to my friend,’ replied Rob stiffly and turned away.

‘I do think it’s wonderfully generous of Roger to invite you to the chalet,’ said Virginia, guiding Emma to the bar. ‘Particularly as you started the year by firing him.’ Emma looked at her mother. She looked great, perhaps twenty years younger than her sixty years in a long-sleeved grey silk cocktail dress worn with a simple string of pearls.

‘Cassandra’s going too,’ continued Virginia. ‘Julia tells me there’s been some bad blood there as well so I think you can resolve a lot of differences if you can be bothered to make it.’

Emma was suddenly in no mood for her mother’s sly digs.

‘Oh, Mother, stop it!’ she snapped. ‘Can’t you give your own daughter the benefit of the doubt for once? You make it sound as if I’m the one that’s been in the wrong all year.’ Emma didn’t want to tell her mother about Cassandra’s scheming; after all, business was good and if Cassandra had been trying to further sabotage the company, she hadn’t been successful. Emma hoped her cousin had got the message that she was only hurting Julia’s shareholding; perhaps she had just got bored and had turned her destructive urges elsewhere. Before Virginia could respond, they were interrupted.

‘Great speech, Em. I think you’ve won a few more hearts and minds tonight.’

She looked up to see Ruan, looking disturbingly handsome in a midnight blue tux. His dark hair curled on his collar and buoyed by good food and drink, he seemed a little less intense.

‘You two should go and dance,’ said Virginia, motioning towards the packed dance floor. ‘The shop floor just don’t know how it’s done.’

They all looked towards Albert, the factory janitor, who was twirling his arms around like a helicopter, his large dickie bow flopping round his neck like a dead bird. Emma rolled her eyes at her mother’s snobbery. Albert wasn’t quite Fred Astaire, but he was having a good time and desperately trying to catch the eye of Abby Ferguson, Milford’s marketing executive. Just then, the music changed pace as the singer began to croon Sinatra’s ‘I’ve got you under my skin,’ to a slow, swinging beat.

‘Come on then, lady-boss, show us your fancy footwork,’ smiled Ruan pulling Emma towards him and turning her in time to the music. She squealed as he dipped her to the floor and felt herself blush as Ruan expertly whirled her around the floor, suddenly enjoying both the levity and the attention.

‘Why, Mr McCormack, I had no idea you were so accomplished,’ grinned Emma.

‘Just one of my many talents,’ murmured Ruan into her ear as he turned her smoothly.

‘Oh? And what are the others, pray tell?’

Ruan’s mouth was smiling, but his dark eyes were more intense than ever. ‘That would be telling.’

Emma felt a blush spread down her neck and across her chest. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation. As the music finished
and they turned to clap the band, she snuck a sideways glance at Ruan, a curious smile on her face.

By midnight the crowds were dispersing. The remaining guests were laughing in Panton House’s bar and the noisy chugging of taxis outside was almost drowned by out-of-tune but good-natured Christmas songs being sung by partygoers queuing for their lifts.

‘I’m getting a cab to Chilcot. Want to share?’ asked Ruan, flipping up the collar of his charcoal overcoat.

Emma nodded. ‘Yes, please.’

They climbed into the back seat and the taxi grumbled along the road. Ruan and Emma sat in silence, just watching the village slip past. Emma could see the silvery clock face of the church hovering above a line of shadowy trees like the moon. Ruan had a large honey-coloured cottage right at the end of the village. Emma remembered his parents living there and how the track down the side led to a pond in which they would swim in the summer.

‘Do you know all this time I’ve been back in Chilcot I have never been inside your house?’ said Emma, overcome by nostalgia.

‘Well, come in then,’ said Ruan. ‘Albert got me a bottle of good Scotch for Christmas that needs drinking.’

‘You’ve already opened your Christmas presents?’ said Emma with mock-shock.

‘That one, yes. It was bottle-shaped and wrapped in Santa Claus paper so the element of surprise was gone,’ he smiled.

Ruan let them in with a key he kept under a flowerpot on the window-sill.
Innocent country ways,
thought Emma with a smile. Inside, there was a stone floor covered with a huge brown rug and the living room was furnished in cosy, if masculine, style. Without thinking Emma decided it needed a female touch. She was embarrassed that she had never been here before. She considered Ruan a friend, but the truth was she barely knew him out of the workplace.

‘I can’t believe you haven’t got a Christmas tree,’ she laughed.

‘Why put something up, only for it to have to come down a week later?’

‘Spoilsport’, she said. ‘I think we need to do something about that, Scrooge.’ She turned and disappeared out of the front door, returning with a twig sprouting leaves and berries which she pushed into the top of an empty wine bottle on the dining-room table.

‘What’s that?’ laughed Ruan.

‘Festive cheer,’ she smiled.

Ruan chuckled and crouched down by the fireplace, busying himself with the task of lighting the coal. Emma flopped onto the sofa and gazed at him breaking up firelighters and arranging kindling.

‘I couldn’t have done it without you, you know that, don’t you?’

‘Don’t be daft,’ he said, turning around. ‘You’re the business brains and Stella is the design wizard. The sisters did it for themselves.’

‘But I couldn’t have understood the industry so quickly without you being there every step of the way, not judging me for my mistakes. In those early days I think I might have given up and gone back to Boston if you hadn’t been there.’

Satisfied that the fire was burning well, he crawled over and sat on the rug near Emma’s feet.

‘Listen, Em, Milford meant everything to my parents and my grandparents before them. My family has worked for Milford for generations and now it means everything to me too. I’ve always wanted the company to do as well as you have and if you’d have been around ten years ago we might already be the British Hermès.’

‘Ten years ago I was 20 years old,’ she grinned. ‘The only thing I’d have been good for at Milford is making cups of tea.’

‘Why did you leave?’

‘England?’ she asked, surprised.

‘One summer you were there, the next you’d gone. I thought you’d got a place at Oxford or something, but then I heard you’d gone to Harvard.’

‘America suited me better,’ she said, smirking at the thought that Ruan had taken a vague interest in her whereabouts. Had she had known that as an 18-year-old she’d have been doing cartwheels – perhaps she might even have taken up her place at Oxford. She lay back on the sofa, her eyes closing.